Hard Feelings
by gloryblastit
Summary: If Sean and Joey had not chased after Craig the night he ran away, Craig's life would have taken a much darker turn.
1. Chapter 1

He traced the name on his mother's gravestone with one finger. It was rough stone, and cold. Julia Jeremiah. Not his last name. He sucked in his breath, he wished it was.

"Mom," he whispered, but he meant goodbye. He wouldn't be here anymore to touch this stone, his last link with his mother. No more. He'd never be here again. He could feel the bruises under his shirt, could feel all the broken blood vessels and hair line fractures in his ribs. Felt it. Every time he breathed in he felt it.

He'd seen Joey with Angela, seen how even if he got mad he held his temper and he wanted a family like that so bad he could taste it, like blood in his mouth. He wanted Joey to be his dad and not just Angie's.

Angie. Small dark girl with wild curls like his, eyes like Joey's, a smile like his mother's. Angela was his link with his mother, her DNA was in Angie like it was in him. The only other one in the world.

"Why would Joey Jeremiah be calling me?" His dad had asked in that dead pan sarcastic way and Craig had froze. No, no, Joey didn't call him tell him he saw Craig with Angela or saw Craig anything no no…

Enough. Enough trying to be some perfect kid he could never be. Enough racing home and missing the good light to have dinner with his father, to tip toe around his temper even though it didn't do any good.

If only his mother were alive, if only. His eyes filled with tears but they didn't fall, just made the head stone shimmery, blurred her name. He took his hand away slowly. Mom.

Today wasn't different from all the other days. Violence in the air like smog, and he breathed it in. He never knew when the belt would strike.

Today wasn't different, his father's hands in that praying position, eyes small and unreadable behind the thick lenses. And Craig felt small and dumb and worthless and he wished to God that Angie would never find out how lucky she was that her father never lost his temper.

He'd packed all his pictures of Angie and Joey and his mom and those would go with him to British Columbia, where it was warm and sunny and he was happy, once.

"Open the door, Craig, now!" Adrenaline had shot through him when the club hit the door. Whistling through the air and smack, tearing at the wood, splintering it. What good were all his locks? Locks wouldn't stop him from screwing up, from coming home late, from breaking some rule he didn't even know about.

He'd called Sean, his new friend. Maybe Sean would leave with him because he had to leave but he didn't want to be alone.

The day in the park with Angie had been so fine. The sun shining on her dark hair, like it had on his mother's hair. When he was with Angie it was like, kind of like being with his mom again. And all that money in his pocket.

"No hard feelings," his dad had said, and Craig had agreed. No hard feelings. Kicked and beaten and strapped. No hard feelings. His ribs hurt and his back hurt and his head hurt and his wrists where his father grabbed him. It was okay.

Why would he need a camera to take pictures of Angie if she could always be with him? He'd be a better father to her than Albert Manning was to him.

Joey yelling for Angela, his face hard, eyes narrowed. He shouldn't have been with her at the park, his dad had said no. Craig hung his head for a moment then smiled and laughed. He could play it off as nothing. It was nothing.

"You could come with us," Angela piped up in her little voice, and Joey's stern look grew sterner and Craig wanted to run even though he knew Joey wouldn't hit him.

"Go where?" Joey said, staring at Craig in horror and disbelief.

"No where," Craig said, his tone light, but his hands were twitching.

"On the bus," Angela said, and Craig just stared at her. How could she know it was a secret? How could she know he couldn't stay here?

"What?" Joey was angry but now puzzled, too, his brow knitted over his eyes. If it was his father he'd be swinging at this point, and Craig felt the breathless fear that Joey might, too.

"He's got a lot of money," Angie said, grabbing for his pocket. Craig tried to jerk away, not wanting Joey to see the money or the bruises and Joey was scooping Angela up in his arms and carrying her away.

"Stay away from her like your father said," Joey spat at him, and Craig's eyes widened. Okay. No Angela. No happy family. Just beatings. No way out. Okay.

At home he felt weird. Quiet house. His dad at work at the hospital fixing people. Fixing them. Ha. Cutting them and hurting them, just like he hurt Craig. And he came home happy to see him and Craig felt the hope like he'd felt a thousand times, that it could be okay. That he could be good enough. That his dad could change. Then the phone rang.

"Joey," his dad's voice, the strange up down way he said Joey. He hated Joey. His wife left him for Joey. And Craig's hope left for the last time. There were hard feelings. No one was ever going to change. He was a rotten kid and his dad would never be Joey Jeremiah.

It occurred to him, balancing on the railroad tracks that gleamed in the sun that Sean might run away with him.

"I can't leave," Sean had said.

It didn't matter, didn't matter. Nothing much mattered anymore. He wished Sean hadn't pulled him from the tracks when the only thing that was real was the roar of the train, blocking out everything else for once.

Craig stood up, still staring at the name on the stone. He couldn't get used to her being gone, couldn't get used to having nowhere to turn to when things got bad. He reached for his bag and it wasn't there.

When he'd stared down the tracks at the train, the headlights and the oncoming rush of air and noise filling every space in his head, he had been clutching the bag in his arms. He'd had it then. Then Sean grabbed him around the waist and pulled him down and the train rattled by and when Sean let go he ran. He'd heard Sean shouting something but he couldn't understand what it was.

The tears in his eyes rolled down his cheeks. His pictures. Angela and Joey and his mom. He couldn't go without a picture of his mom. There was one at his house hidden in his room. He'd go back and get it and then go to British Columbia. And no one would stop him.

Back past the homeless kids huddled around the fire in the old can, kids who stared at him like they wanted to eat him. Past the railroad tracks. In the dim moonlight he could see his bag was gone. Back into the nice neighborhood of big white houses and neat green lawns, the neighborhood of lawyers and doctors and CEO's.

His house was dark enough. Maybe his dad was gone, or asleep, or, or anything. Craig walked slowly, hearing the gravel of the driveway shift under his feet, hearing the whish of the club as it slammed into his bedroom door. "Open the door, now!" His father's voice so real in his head that Craig winced.

He'd get his picture and get out and his father wouldn't stop him. He slipped the key from under the mat and opened the door, the creak of the door sending chills of fear through Craig's spine. Don't wake him, don't wake him, he prayed, lips moving silently with the request. Don't wake him.

Inside, dim rooms, quiet house, Craig went to his father's study and to his desk drawer where he kept his gun. His father wouldn't stop him this time. Wouldn't shove him to the ground and kick him. Wouldn't raise his belt and whip him. He was getting his picture and getting out, and God help his father if he tried to get in his way.

Gun shoved hastily in the waistband of his pants, the metal heavy and cold against his skin. He crept up the carpeted stairs, slowly, so the stairs wouldn't creak. Up to his bedroom door, wood all splintered out from gouges and gashes, the door swung open, locks all bashed and busted. Craig sucked in his breath, feeling the pull in his hurt ribs.

Feeling under his mattress for the picture, hidden there so his dad wouldn't find it, he felt the slick surface of the picture with his fingertips and pulled it out.

"Craig,"

His father, his dead calm voice, eyes hidden behind flat glass in the dim light. Craig stared at him, jaw slack, eyes huge, picture held loosely between his fingers.

"Where have you been?" That tone, reasonless and logicless and it made Craig's legs feel weak, made his muscles tense.

With two hands he pulled the gun out and leveled it at his father. The picture of his mother slipped to the floor and Craig heard the sound it made against the carpet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger, and the noise of the gun going off in his hand made him feel deaf, and seemed to echo and re echo in his head.

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When Craig opened his eyes he saw his father slumped in his doorway, saw blood and brain splattered on the walls. He stared, slack jawed, unable to comprehend what he had done.

Too numb to cry Craig sat on the floor beside his father's crumpled body and hugged his knees, rocked back and forth.

When the dawn showed pink and gold through the window Craig stood up, stepped over the body, and went downstairs. He left the house and began to walk toward the only place he could think of to go. Joey's.

Joey opened the door after his third knock. Craig had been prepared to go on knocking all day.

"Craig?" Joey held a cup of coffee. A blue terry robe flapped around him.

"Craig, what are you doing here?" Too tired yet to be angry.

"Shouldn't you be at school?" Craig didn't answer, just stared up at him, this man with the sharp eyes and blue terry bathrobe who should have been his father.

"Joey, I…"

Joey shook his head.

"Craig, come in here," But he didn't move. Saw Angela's face behind Joey light up.

"Craig!"

Something was wrong, Joey felt it like a cold finger against his spine. Craig shouldn't be here. And he'd never seen anyone look quite so wrong as Craig looked, just staring at him, eyes huge, mouth moving but no words coming out. He'd never seen anyone so young look so bad.

"C'mon. Get in here," He grabbed the lapel of Craig's black leather jacket and pulled him in.

"Craig!" Angie said, smiling, peering up at him. He didn't acknowledge her, he barely acknowledged Joey. He stood still and stared, his breathing quick and shallow.

"Angie, honey, go upstairs and get dressed. I want to talk to Craig alone,"

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, please, go upstairs,"

She went, black curls bouncing around her face. Joey watched her until she disappeared around the corner upstairs.

"Craig, sit down," He said it sharp, nearly yelling, not because he was mad but because he was trying to get through Craig's soft disconnect. It worked. Craig flinched and looked at Joey and sat down.

"Tell me what's wrong," Joey said.

"I, um, I shot him,"

"Shot who?"

"My father. I shot him. Killed him,"


	2. Chapter 2

Joey wasn't quite sure he'd heard that right. But looking at Craig, his ashen face and huge eyes, he didn't want to ask him to repeat it.

"Oh. Oh my God," Joey sat down, set his coffee on the table too hard. Things were adding up fast for Joey now. Craig's recent odd behavior, always wanting to be with Angela. He remembered a conversation he had with Julia shortly after she left Albert.

"So why'd you finally leave him? Couldn't resist the stud muffin?" Joey said, fedora low over his eyes, covers pulled up to mid chest. But Julia was serious, her eyes shiny with tears, but she smiled a little at Joey.

"You don't know what it was like to live with Albert Manning," she said, her eyes getting that glazed, disconnected look, a lesser version of how Craig's eyes looked right now.

"He was so angry all the time, so violent…"

"Violent? How?" Joey said, setting the fedora back on his head, gazing at her steadily. He had loved that woman.

"Punching walls, throwing things…"

"Did he ever hit you?"

She was so still, so calm and resigned about that past. She nodded.

"A couple of times. Nothing like, well, 'The Burning Bed' or anything,"

Joey gritted his teeth. He'd never been so disgusted with someone he hardly knew.

"Julia, do you think it's such a good idea letting him have custody of Craig?" Craig had been nine then, a cheerful, creative, smart, funny little kid.

"I can't fight him in court. He has all the money, all the lawyers. Besides, he'd never hurt Craig,"

Joey kept quiet, knowing that she had to believe that, and maybe it was true. But he didn't think so. All of Albert's rage over being divorced had to go somewhere, and Craig would be the only one around.

"Craig," Joey said, and Craig looked at him, his eyes pleading.

"Craig, I don't really know what to say here. But I have to ask you a hard question and I want you to be honest with me. If I'm going to help you you have to be honest,"

Craig swallowed hard and nodded. Joey closed his eyes for longer than a blink, whispered 'okay' to himself, cleared his throat.

"Did your father hit you? Did he hurt you?"

Craig looked away and Joey didn't think he'd answer, which was answer enough in its way. But he shrugged out of his black leather jacket and lifted the blue plaid shirt he wore underneath. Joey stared at the dark purple bruising all along his stomach and ribs.

"Oh Jesus, Craig,"

He let the shirt go and it covered the results of that final beating again.

"What am I gonna do, Joey?"

Joey took a swig of his coffee, the image of Craig's black and blue ribs flashing in his head and if Albert weren't already dead he'd want to kill him himself.

Things didn't look too good, Joey figured. Craig would either go to some juvenile lock up facility or a mental hospital. Either place would probably be traumatizing for him, on top of the trauma he'd already experienced.

He thought maybe a lawyer could make a half way decent case for him, a sort of post trauma self defense case, maybe.

"I don't really know, Craig. I, uh…" Joey shook his head. He was this kid's last hope and he had little to offer. He wanted to help him, he had to. For Julia.


	3. Chapter 3

"Uh, I have to drive Angie to school, so you stay here. I'll be right back,"

Craig nodded, still sitting at the kitchen table, his black leather jacket draped on the back of the chair. He had a look of soft shock, like a soldier who's just seen his best buddy ripped in half by a mortar shell.

Angela frowned, her brow furrowed, and stared hard at Craig as they walked out the door. He finally seemed to see her, for the first time since he'd arrived, and he gave her the saddest smile Joey thought he'd ever seen.

"In trouble?" Angie said, holding onto the door frame. Craig nodded.

"Yeah, bad trouble," His voice was soft and husky, like he'd been crying for a long time. And Joey felt how excluded he was for the moment as Julia's children discussed it. Angela's little hand clinging to the door frame, that hand was a rock and wouldn't budge until she was done talking to her brother.

"Are you gonna go away?"

Craig looked down for a moment and then lifted his head.

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe,"

"Will I still get to see you?"

"Yeah,"

Angie gave him a sad little smile back and removed her hand from the door frame, followed Joey to the car.

On the way to Angie's school Joey thought maybe Craig wouldn't wait, maybe he'd just take off and then he'd be someone else's problem. And maybe that would be better.

"Have a good day," he told his daughter, but her brow was still furrowed and he knew she'd worry all day. She walked much slower than usual to the school.

If only Craig had told him, or anyone, about the abuse then maybe…Joey shook his head. Those thoughts did no good. He had to look at the facts. Craig killed his father. 14 years old and he killed someone. And what had Albert done? The bruises Craig had shown him flashed in his mind again and Joey gritted his teeth.

Snake! Snake would know what to do, or at least have more options. He was a teacher, probably Craig's teacher, he must have dealt with some similar situations, maybe.

Joey drove to DeGrassi, feeling a little better knowing this burden wouldn't be his alone anymore.

Inside the school an odd rush of memories assaulted him. He hadn't been in the school since he had attended it. He didn't know what it was, the smell, the sunlight hitting the row of lockers like that, the peculiar echo, but something triggered memories so strong it felt like an acid flashback and Joey closed his eyes.

"Snake!" he stage whispered outside Snake's classroom, and he felt a bit like the eighth grader he had been, ultra cool in his fedora. Snake glanced over, blue eyes wide with surprise, and he came over.

"Joey, what's going on?" Casual. Snake was keeping half an eye on his class.

"I've got a problem. Well, not me, exactly. One of your students. I need help,"

"Joey, what is this about? I'm at work…"

"I know. I know you are. Couldn't you get someone to cover? Say you have an emergency? This is an emergency. I need your help, man,"

Snake gave him that Snake look. Penetrating blue eyed stare to see if he was telling the truth. Joey stared back, his eyes as desparetly pleading as Craig's. Snake nodded.

"Okay, alright. Go outside and wait for me, I'll work it out,"

"Great. Thanks,"

He left, wanting to get out of that school that made him feel old but not old at the same time.

Ten minutes later Snake emerged, scanned the parking lot for Joey and headed over.

"Alright. What's this about?"

Joey took a deep breath, glanced up at the clear blue sky.

"It's about Craig, Craig Manning, my step son,"

"The kid Emma brought to Spike's party?"

"Yeah, him,"

"He's in my homeroom and M.I. class, he's a pretty good kid,"

"Yeah, well, he's in a shit load of trouble and I'm, I have no idea what to do…"

"Joey, what is it? Is he alright?"

"He killed his father,"

Snake's jaw dropped open and he stared at Joey, uncomprehending.

"What? How'd he do it?"

"He shot him,"

"Oh Jesus,"

Blue sky, time slipping away. Craig was waiting at the house.

"Why? Why'd he do it?"

"His father beat him, you should see the bruises on this kid, but I don't know if that's enough to…to keep him out of trouble. And I have to help him, Snake, he's Julia's son and she would want…she'd want me to help him,"


	4. Chapter 4

"Where's Mr. Simpson?" Sean said, looking around the classroom. If anyone would know it would be Emma.

"He left. He had to go help Joey," Sean scowled, dark eyebrows in a sharp V. Emma was using this free time to do some homework, her blond hair falling toward the paper as she wrote.

"Hey, is Craig here today?" Sean said. He'd been worried about the kid since he ran off yesterday. When Craig had called him on the phone he had heard his father yelling in the background, and he had heard the veiled panic in Craig's voice.

"I don't know. I haven't seen him,"

Sean remembered walking along the railroad tracks with Craig, and telling him how his parents were pathetic and that now he lived with his brother here. Then Craig asked him if his parents hit him, and he didn't really look at him when he asked that.

"Spinner!" In the hall, the flow of kids, the halls packed because the schools merged, he saw Spinner's blond spiky hair.

"Hey, man," Spinner came over, his eyes squinty, wide smile.

"Hey, uh, is Craig here today?" Sean said.

"Nope. He's out,"

"Damn,"

"What's it to you?" Spinner said, the slight smile never leaving his face. In Spinner's own clueless way he struck a nerve. What was it to him? Nothing, except Craig had told him he was running away. And even before he played chicken with the train Sean had seen that he was in rough shape. And maybe that meant he'd had a responsibility to intervene and he'd done nothing. And now Craig's absence was knawing at him.

"Hey, Emma," he caught up with her at her locker, and she looked at him with her wide eyed Emma Nelson look.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he said.

"Sure. Talk,"

"Not here. Somewhere private,"

She shrugged her slight shoulders, blond hair swishing around her face and he remembered how he felt when he liked her.

In an empty classroom, the room dim with the lights off, Sean stared at the floor.

"Sean, what is it?"

"It's Craig. Look, I think he might have run away,"

"What? Why? Because his dad won't let him see Angela?"

"No, I think it's more serious than just that,"

"What do you mean, Sean?"

"I think his dad might, might beat him," Emma's eyes widened.

"You think? Did he tell you that?"

Sean swallowed, looked at the last lesson written on the chalkboard.

"No, not exactly,"

He didn't quite know why he thought it, everything seemed to add up to that. Craig's dad screaming at him in the background of the phone call, and then his plan to go to B.C.

"Emma, he's not here today. Yesterday he said he was running away to British Columbia and I think he did. We've got to go find him,"

Emma stared at him for a second, lips in a tight line, eyes wide.

"Sean, what? First of all, maybe he's just home sick or something. Second, if he did run away just how are we supposed to find him?"

"I don't know. But he's gonna end up on the street if he ran away. We've got to try and find him,"

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Craig wasn't thinking right. All his thoughts felt thick and slow, like that lava stuff in lava lamps. He'd fucked up and no one could help him. He was beyond help now.

If he sat here and waited for Joey he'd end up in jail, or juvenile lock up or a mental hospital. And maybe he belonged in those places.

He still had the money, it had been in his pocket all along. Enough to get to B.C. He'd wanted to take Angela, he'd wanted Sean to go with him, but maybe he had to go alone.

He stood up, shrugged into his leather jacket, patted his pocket that the money was in, and left. He headed for the bus station.


	5. Chapter 5

Thoughts sticky in his head. Couldn't think. He walked to the bus station, not feeling the cold. Not feeling anything.

On the bus Craig laid his head against the window, closed his eyes, saw the blood spattered on the wall and his father's lifeless form. He squeezed his eyes shut but the image wouldn't go away. He moaned, a low moan of pain from deep in his chest.

Like yesterday, only yesterday standing on the railroad tracks with the train rushing toward him, the roar of the train filling his head with salvation, the thought of suicide crept in again.

The gentle rocking of the bus lulled him, made him feel almost sleepy. He hadn't slept in well over 24 hours, running on burned out adrenaline.

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"Sean, maybe we should tell someone," Emma looked at him, tried to catch his eye, but he was looking down.

"I don't think so,"

"Why? What are we gonna be able to do alone? We probably won't even be able to find him," Emma's ernest voice almost getting through to him. And she was right. What could they possibly do alone?

He shook his head, looked up.

"I know you're right. But it doesn't feel right. We've got to go alone. We could find him. I know it,"

It was crazy. Emma knew, she knew, but Craig was awful cute and trying to find him would be a fun little forbidden adventure.

"Okay, Sean. I'll go with you,"

At the next bell as the hallways flooded with kids Sean and Emma blended in with them, then slipped out the side door when no one was looking.

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Joey drove with his usual steadiness, gave the side mirrors quick little adjustments. He felt much better having Snake in the passenger seat.

"Maybe he's lying," Snake said.

"I don't think so. You should have seen him. White as a goddamn ghost,"

He pulled up to his house and parked the car, and exchanged a look with Snake that reminded him of when they were in trouble as kids, the look said, 'what the fuck are we going to do?'

"Craig!" Joey blinked, looked around, called to him again, "Craig!" He'd expected him to be right where he left him.

"I don't think he's here anymore," Snake said.

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He did sleep. The bus rocked him to sleep, and it wasn't so much falling asleep as being sucked into sleep, and in his dream he was in the cemetery again and then at his house. Only this time his dad held the gun pointed at Craig's chest, and he stared at him with his narrowed little eyes.

"When I say six o'clock I mean six o'clock," Albert Manning said, and in his sleep Craig flinched.

"I don't care how great the light is," and he pulled the trigger. Craig jerked awake and was completely disoriented, blinking and looking around, unable to make sense of his surroundings.

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"Let's call him, maybe he's just home sick or something," Emma said. Sean nodded, hoping sickness was why he would be home and not a concussion and broken bones.

The phone rang and rang, and Sean shook his head.

"Well, maybe no one is answering. Before we go to British Columbia we should at least see if he's home," Emma said. Sean nodded.

"I guess you're right,"

Neither knew where he lived but they called information and found out. Looking for the house among all the manicured lawns and elegant houses Emma whistled.

"Nice part of town," she said. Sean smiled a crooked little smile. It was nice, alright. And it was nice to see that rich people had problems, too, something that hadn't occurred to him before he met Craig.

"This is it," Emma said, seeing the number on the mailbox, and the shiny metal letters that spelled out Albert Manning, M.D.

They knocked and no one answered. Emma shifted from one foot to the other. They knocked louder and still no answer.

"We could break in," Sean said, eyeing the windows that were low to the ground.

"There's probably an alarm. Look at this house, Sean,"

"Try the door, then,"

It opened, and they stepped inside. They blinked in the dim light, took in the gleaming oak furniture, the paintings on the walls, the thick beige carpet.

"Do you smell something?" Emma said, wrinkling her nose.

"No,"

They walked slowly from the front hall to the kitchen.

"Craig!" Sean said. Silence.

"Craig, are you here!" Emma said, her voice projecting like she was on a stage.

"He's not here. I told you," Sean said.

"Maybe he's in his room," Emma said, "let's look upstairs,"

The stairs went up and then there was a landing and they turned. At this landing Emma saw Albert slumped over and bloody, blood on the walls, his eyes open and staring like a doll.

"Oh my…oh my God," she said.


	6. Chapter 6

"Emma, c'mon, let's go," Emma had slid to the floor, unable to stand, unable to stop staring at the dead body on the landing above her. Sean pulled her to her feet, grabbed her arm and made her follow him down the stairs.

"C'mon," he said, but she resisted.

"That's Craig's, Craig's dad…" she said, not moving, still staring.

"Yeah, probably. _Let's go_,"

"But Sean, what if Craig's hurt, too? Or worse?" Emma pulled away from Sean, started going up the stairs. He pulled on her arm harder now and she went a couple of steps after him.

"Emma, we have to go. What if whoever shot him is still here?"

"Do you think they are?" she said, eyes wide.

"I don't know, but I don't want to stick around and find out,"

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"Jesus, Snake, I don't know what to do," Joey said, shaking his head.

"You've got to call the police,"

"Yeah, I guess so. But he came to me for help and now I'm going to turn him in?"

"Joey, they're going to find out sooner or later,"

"How about later?"

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Uneasy sleep, like the type of sleep you have when you have a high fever. Craig started to realize what he'd done, and it came to him in uneasy fragments. 'I shot my father,' How could he, how could he have done that? No matter the provocation, how could he have done that?

Maybe he should go back, turn himself in. He deserved whatever he would get, whatever hellhole they would stick him in, he deserved it. Everyone would look at him like he was some kind of monster, a killer. The worst kind of killer

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"We should go to the police," Emma said. They were at a nearby park sitting on the bench of a picnic table. Sean traced the outline of a heart carved into the wood with his finger.

"I don't think so," he said.

"But Sean! What if Craig is in there, too? Maybe he's hurt…maybe he's hiding…"

"Emma. Maybe Craig shot him,"

"What?"

"Look, you didn't see him yesterday. He was crazy, he, I think he could have done it,"

Emma just stared at him, her mouth open a little.

"And if he did do it," Sean went on, not looking at her, "and we call the police, then that's it. That's it for him,"


End file.
